Darkness, Be My Friend
by FelixFrouder
Summary: Tom Riddle/OC. Bella Wilde is sent back fifty years to unravel a series of events before they evolve. And to save the one person who destroyed the world. The question is, can you save someone...who doesn't want to be saved?


**DARKNESS, BE MY FRIEND**

Chapter 1: The End.

Saturday, October 31st, 1998

4:57PM

Death couldn't believe he was going to agree to it. Him! Wasn't he supposed to be in control? He _was _Death, after all. But then again, Banquo, his young apprentice, did have a point.

It could be the world's last hope. Potter, Schmotter! He didn't believe in that 'prophecy' notion one bit! Destiny is not a matter of chance it is a matter of choice. _'People determine their own fate through their actions… not because of what some bloody prophecy says will or won't happen,' _he had told Banquo over a game of croquet that morning. _'But, I have to admit, it did set the ball rolling for this story.' _

And after Death had formally welcomed Harry Potter into the after-life as of two days ago, a nagging voice had been pounding in the back of his mind. Given that, it was certainly a marvellous showdown between the most well known wizards of the time. Too bad the Potter boy lost.

After that oppressive climax, the world plunged deeper into chaos. The muggles now knew of the wizarding world's presence. And more were dying each day, from both sides. It was only the Death Eaters that had prevailed.

He let out a snort. "_Death Eaters_," letting his tongue roll off the two words. "Bit ignorant, aren't they?"

Leaning passively into a leather chair, he examined the snow globe on his desk. It was a simple object. A glass dome filled with water and fake snowflakes. And in the centre of the dome was a cheerful Santa's village. Death _tsked _at Banquo's apparent sentimentality for everything concerning human culture. He turned it over in his hands and then shook the contents vigorously. The snowflakes swirled quite a storm inside the globe and Death patiently peered in. Eventually, the snowstorm began to settle and a new image slowly materialised. Santa's village had long since disappeared and was replaced by a new picture. It was like any London street. Except, this seemingly normal setting was displaced by the hundreds of bodies lining the road. Some were limp, lying lifeless. Others were sprawled out in excruciating postures. And then there were some – Death did not recoil at the sight – that he could not account for the whereabouts of the rest of their anatomy. The pieces were simply everywhere. Death dismissed a band of shrouded black figures, who shuffled unceremoniously through the scene, a green skull looming in the sky above.

_He was searching for one face. One sneering...leering...infamous face. _

And then he spotted him. His white, unholy skin caught him off guard for a moment. _Dear Merlin, is that what he'd done to himself over the years?_

But it was the two red, venomous eyes glowing in the dim light that stirred Death most. The pure amount of hatred he saw inside those eyes was unsettling.

And then Death proceeded to do a strange thing.

He laughed.

Not an evil sort of laugh, but an actual 'I-Find-This-Incredibly-Amusing' sort of laugh.

Tapping the glass with a pale finger, he smiled down at the man. "Oh, Voldemort," he murmured. "If only you knew what I have in store for you..." And with that the scene before him vanished and the globe was once again a mere children's toy.

A _tap tap _echoed from the door. Death did not bother to glance up at the entrance as the visitor sidled into the study. He moved swiftly, but silently, and waited as he accommodated his surroundings. There was a pregnant silence for a while.

Death coughed. "You can speak, Banquo" he said. "I have had a while to mule over what we've discussed earlier."

His apprentice nodded knowingly. He wore a tailored waistcoat over his crisp white shirt, and the buttons glinted in the light like little stars. "Look, I know it was a stupid idea, Sir. I mean it was irrational, desperate…totally irresponsible. I don't even know why I suggested it. It was a–"

"A brilliant idea," Death interjected.

Banquo blinked.

"A marvellous idea," he continued. "I'm surprised I didn't think of it myself."

Banquo blinked again.

He peered at his master, his green eyes widening. "Sir, are you feeling alright? I thought you said you can't interfere with events? Was it not you that said that you're just a caretaker, cleaning up the mess?"

"Yes, yes… when you put it _that_ way you make me sound like a right sodding bastard. But as much as _I _can't interfere with events, others in my constituency can…," he motioned for the young man to sit. Banquo curiously made his way over to a leather chair across from his master, brushing his mop of brown hair from his eyes.

"Well, I've had time to think it over in your absence. And I have foggiest idea that we might actually be doing the right thing."

Banquo stared at his master in disbelief. "What?"

"Since when have I ever agreed with any of your ridiculous ideas, Banquo?"

"Never, Sir."

"So," he continued indignantly. "That's got to be saying something, right?"

Reaching his hand up to his neck, Banquo scratched an impending itch. A question wretched in his stomach. "Sir? When you said _you_ can't interfere with events, but _others_ can…whoexactly did you mean? Surely not…"

Death grinned. "Ah! See, you've got it now!"

"What?" Banquo almost fell out of his chair with surprise. "You're sending _her_ back?"

"Yes, I'm sending her back."

"But I thought you would send _me_, not Bellasophia?"

"I'm still sending you. Just with her."

"_Bellasophia_?"

"Yes. I think we've been over this already."

Banquo stared open-mouthed at his esteemed teacher. _Was he completely insane?_

"She's only sixteen years old!" A rather ironic quip, considering that Banquo was only a good five years older than her. "She's never even Jumped before! And how is she supposed to defeat a dark lord?"

"Yes, but what _kind_ of defeat are you thinking of?" asked Death, relaxing into his chair. He folded his arms behind his head. "I have a more emotionally challenging one in mind. I'm not the killer everyone assumes I am, you know?"

"Sir, with all do respect…why her?"

Death paused. For a moment Banquo almost glimpsed contempt in his grey eyes.

"I'm not going to get sentimental about this," he said eventually. "But really, what kind of home is this for a child? She needs relative normalcy, friendships… homework. That sort of rubbish! I realise now that I can give her that _and _save the future of the world at the same time."

"Can I ask what made you change your mind?"

Death's mind flashed back to their debate earlier this morning.

"_Sir," said Banquo, wretchedly. "It's not fair. Can't you just kill him?"_

"_Fair?" he retorted. "Who said anything about fair?"_

"_He's destroyed so many lives. He's the reason I'm–"_

"_Listen," said Death. "Fair doesn't come into it. You can't take sides. Good grief. Who are you to say who lives and who dies? That's all there is to it, boy."_

He shook his head. "I've been watching _him_," Death said, motioning towards the snow globe. "And throughout his entire life I have studied him. I've read his book in the library a great many times."

"Then couldn't you just leaf ahead and see what going to happen?"

"_Empty pages_," was the answer. "I can only look back on what _has _happened. And, as I flipped through my notes this afternoon, something occurred to me…"

He rose from his chair and marched across the room, pushing the large oak doors aside. Banquo took this as a sign he should follow. The apprentice was left muttering to himself as he made his way across the hall and into the library.

Pale sunlight danced down from the high windows, gently fading the covers on the patient, ancient volumes. Occasionally a speck of dust would catch the light as it floated through the golden shafts, and flare like a miniature supernova.

The library was a gigantic structure, lined ceiling to floor with countless rows of bookshelves. It housed billions of books, each containing the life history of a person. Dead people's books were full up. Unborn people's books were all blank pages. Every other book was scribbling away, writing down everything folk do. Death knew that if he listened closely he could hear the insect-like scratching of the books as they wrote themselves. Once upon a time he would have found it eerie. Now it was – reassuring. It demonstrated that the universe was running smoothly. His conscience, which had been looking for the opening, gleefully reminded him that, all right, it might be running smoothly, but it certainly wasn't heading in the right direction.

He made his way through the maze of shelves and turned to his apprentice, "Do you hear that?"

Banquo glanced up at the cliff of shelves above him. "I don't hear anything, sir."

"That's what troubles me. A few days ago this section was furiously scribbling life stories, and now…nothing."

"I have noticed over the past year," said Banquo, "That the library has seemed to quieten."

"And _business_ is booming more than ever," mumbled Death, more to himself than anyone. He continued down an aisle of shelves and made a sharp turn to the right.

It seemed to take years to locate Voldemort's biography, but he found it eventually.

It was a depressingly thick volume on a shelf only reachable by the library ladder, a wheeled rickety structure that strongly resembled an early siege engine. The book's dusty suede cover beared only the etched words of _Tom Marvolo Riddle_.

With a determined finger he opened it at the last page and groaned.

"_The Boy-Who-Lived's death at the age of seventeen_," He read out to Banquo, "_was followed by the war-torn collapse of the wizarding and muggle worlds and, indirectly, the destruction of civilisations everywhere and the rise of_–"

He read on, unable to stop. Occasionally he groaned again.

Finally he put the book back, hesitated, and then shoved it behind a few other volumes. He could still feel it there as he climbed down the ladder, shrieking its incriminating existence to the world.

His stomach went cold as he thought of what was starting to happen.

"He will bring about the end of the world, Banquo," he said quietly. He leaned against the bookcase and sent a scurry of dust bunnies flying. As the dust settled, a hand went up to his mouth in thought. "No, no, no. This just won't do. Who does he think he is, playing around with fate? Never have I known a man so determined to avoid meeting _me_! Something has to be done."

Banquo frowned. "Like what, sir?"

Death's eyes gleamed in the fading sunlight. "I've read his story many times, Banquo," he said. "Do you want to hear something interesting?"

He waited expectantly.

Death continued, "For a man filled with such emotion, such ambition and desire for power, he has been completely deficient in one aspect all through his life…"

"And what would that be?"

Death paused. "He has never loved."

"What does love have to do with anything?" Banquo said.

"Look, the only thing I know about love is that love is all there is… Love can do all but raise the dead."

Banquo looked thoughtful for a moment. "So you're sending Bellasophia back to..."

"The way I see it," said Death. "You can be whatever type of person you choose to be. Your habits, your behaviours, your responses, are all your choice. I want to present Tom Riddle with a choice, and he can either reject it…and history continues the way it would. Or, he embraces it and changes the fate of the world entirely.

Let us give Tom Marvolo Riddle the one thing he never had in his life… a friend."

* * *

Saturday, October 31st, 1998

9:43PM

Bellasophia was five years old when _he_ found her. Her parents who were muggles, were scared of their child's abnormal abilities, and did the most unforgivable thing imaginable. They abandoned her.

Lost, cold and alone… Death came to her. He took pity on the scared little girl and offered her sanctuary in his home.

"I can show you the stars," he had said. Pulling up the sleeve of his cloak, he then reached into the starry sky. And from the heaven's he picked off a single star, placing the twinkling grain in the child's outstretched hand. She agreed to his offer almost immediately and Death was pleased. After all, he was tired of being alone.

And so, Bellasophia Wilde from Northamptonshire…became Death's daughter.

In the twelve years that passed, Death grew only to love his daughter more and more each day. She was a bright girl and had something to say about almost everything. She was always reading, never seen without a book in her hands. Every so often she would mutter out random titbits from pages she'd read. But she was a quick reader. And everything she read, she remembered. Maybe that's why she could be so trying at times. All that knowledge cramped in her head…it made her quite stubborn.

Dinner had been over for more than four hours when Bella Wilde finally stamped down the parlour stairs. She pushed open the swinging oak door and was mildly disappointed when it failed to screech ominously. The darkness greeted her with animosity and her hand flew to the wall. She felt around for a switch before remembering they had the clapper installed last week. _Silly me. _With a loud clap of her hands, the room lit up. Her olive skin instantly took on a glow in the new light. Not only was she a bright girl, she had her looks as well. Chocolate straight locks fell elegantly below her shoulder and over the years her wide-set hazel eyes had become accustomed to holding a steady gaze. She was not a stereotypical beauty, but she held herself with a grace and presence that suggested otherwise. Had she grown up a normal child, she might have even been vain. But considering the company of the household, consisting of just her father and Banquo, not much had been left to her vanity.

She was half-way over to the fridge when she spotted Death sitting at the table, a plate of half-eaten cookies in front of him.

"Dad!" she gasped. "You almost gave a heart attack. What are you doing down here?"

He picked up a sugary, pink coloured cookie. "I thought it…would be…obvious," he said between mouthfuls. "Want one?"

Folding her arms, she eyed him off. "I haven't changed my mind, in case you're wondering."

Death's face fell serious. He waved a hand at the chair beside him. Bella's feet stayed planted. "Darling, if you would just reconsider–"

"No!" she said, her coolness melting. "There's no way I'm going to some prissy school fifty effing years ago. And for what? To become buddies with an egotistic Darth Vader wannabe?"

"That _prissy _school happens to be Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And you will be there to ensure the lasting future of mankind," Death reminded.

She could feel her temper rising. _Breathe, Bella. Just breathe. _She chose her next words carefully. "Dad, I don't want to save the world. I just want to be me."

Her father pushed his plate of cookies aside, and clasped his hands together. Looking down at the purple daisied tablecloth, he said, "When you came into my life all those years ago, I knew you were special from the moment I met you. I could see it in your eyes. From your fingertips to your toes, you were always longing for adventure. You wanted to ride the winds back, swim in the stars, read every book imaginable so your mind would be filled with the wonders of the world."

Death raised his head to her. "Sometimes I wonder if you've forgotten that."

_Damn it. Damn it. Damn it._

_He was right. _

_He always was._

The room fell silent, except for the crumbling of coals in the molten heart of the stove. Finally, Bella let out an exasperated sigh. "Okay," she said, "I'll do it."

Death smiled warmly. "I always knew you would," he said. "That's why I already had Banquo pack your things. They're in the foyer. You can pick them up as you two leave."

"Wait, I'm confused. Did you just say when _us two _leave?"

He nodded slowly.

"No, no, I refuse to be babysat like this! Dad, I'm seventeen, okay? I can look after myself."

"I know you can," he said, for the sake of it. "Banquo will just be there for a bit of guidance. And this will be your first time. Jumping, I mean."

"I've Transported before. It's similar."

"Not entirely. Transporting from place to place is elementary. But jumping through time is not all forwards and backwards. It's front-ways and side-ways and long-ways and short-ways."

Bella could have argued, but decided against it. Because this was Death, who has mastered the art of going everywhere without ostentation and could slide between dimensions and centuries as easily as he could slip through an open door.

"That is because time is adjustable," he continued. "It's not really important."

"I always thought it was."

"People think it is important only because they invented it," said Death sombrely. Bella considered this rather trite but, once more, decided not to press it further.

"So if I'm going back in time to _change _something," she said, "won't that completely unravel the space-time continuum, or whatever it's called?" She opened the fridge door, and then closed it, deciding she really wasn't that hungry after all.

"I mean, when you and Banquo travel through time, all you do is hang out with dead people."

It has long been a misguided fact, that Death only ushers souls from our world, the one that we know. As Death explained, time is not a simple straight line. Last Tuesday he did the Great Armada, Thursday was , and the Thursday before that he paid a visit to an old persons Home in . This non-consecutive roster was the only way he could manage to get around to _every _soul that ever lived.

"I have never changed the future," said Death. "I let humans make their own decisions. And whatever happens to Tom Riddle, it will be because _he _chose it, not me. So, yes, if he chooses different to what history records, the future will change. But it won't…err, implode or whatever it is your thinking. A new future will be formed, merely different from the last. We three would be the only people to remember a world with Lord Voldemort"

Bella knew the underlying importance of his last sentence… _'We three would be the only people to remember a world with Lord Voldemort..' _He spoke as if Voldemort and Tom Riddle were two completely different people. Maybe they were. She wasn't entirely sure. _'…the only people to remember…'_ Those were the words that struck her most. When she thought about all the suffering he had caused, all the people he had killed…it was at that moment the little voice inside her head asked, _'if you had a chance to take away the bad memories of millions, would you do it?'_

She sighed. "I've never been to a real school before. I guess it could be interesting."

* * *

Out in the foyer, Banquo was already performing shrinking charms on Bella's luggage. She watched him with interest. With a flick of his wrist the trunks folded up before her eyes, getting smaller and smaller, until…_pop! _Three small chocolate jellybeans fell to the black tiled floor and rolled around in circles before finding a place at her feet. Bella bent over and grabbed them, stuffing them tightly into the pocket of her skirt. 

"Oh," said Banquo, "Be careful not to eat those later. A friend of mine once did, and when the charm wore off…well, you can imagine what happened to him."

Bella grimaced. "Yeah, I'll keep that in mind."

She stared around the room. The large entrance hall was full of many doors that seemed to go on forever, all decorated in a familiar skull-and-bones motif. And yet Bella knew the room behind each door like the back of her hand.

The house of Death was unlike any other. This was mostly due to the fact it didn't exist. Not really, anyway. It lay in a place outside space and time, outside the universe. But step outside the door on a Saturday morning at 8:17am and one would find oneself on a foggy Parisian street. Bella's favourite was the 'aurora borialis' on the Monday six weeks previous at 3:22am. The house was odd that way.

Her thoughts returned to the room's décor. There were a lot of funeral drapes on the walls here, and a grandfather clock with a tick like the heartbeat of a mountain. There was an umbrella stand beside it. It had a scythe in it.

"I'm proud of you, Bella," said a low voice behind her.

She turned around to face her dad. Some people have this preconceived idea about Death. They assume because he works with the dead that he must then, obviously, appear dead. This was not the case. The figure standing before Bella, the person she knew as 'Father', was just a man. A tired, aging man. He had a kind but worn looking face, and glinting grey eyes. His hair was soft and white and at times it shone silvery in the light. He was tall and thin, carrying himself with the demure of a man that had lived a thousand years. Only, he really had.

_Time is adjustable… _his words repeated in her head.

She found it dismaying then, that for a man who welcomed her so lovingly into his home, he could be feared by so many millions of people.

"Dad?"

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Thank you for believing in me," she said, "Even when I haven't done anything yet."

He smiled. "Oh, but you will. I'm just congratulating you in advance."

Their father-daughter moment was suddenly interrupted by a jolting _thump_. Bella spun around to see Banquo had slapped his hand against the front door. "Time is fast approaching, folks! We have to make the jump soon." He looked slightly anxious and pulled the curtain aside at the front window and peered out into the darkness.

"Oh, shoot!" Death muttered. "I almost forgot to give you this–" He opened his hand and a piece of parchment materialised. He thrust it out to Bella.

She frowned and turned it over in her hands. "What's the point of this?" she asked, waving it about. "It's blank!"

"That, Bellasophia, is my greatest novelty," he replied indignantly. "Basically, whoever reads it will see what you want them to see, whatever that may be."

"Right…," a smile began to form on her lips. "So, it's like a fake ID."

Death pointed a knowing finger at her. "Don't go getting any ideas into your head. That's for official business only, okay?"

She raised an eyebrow, "Yeah, alright." She shoved it in her pocket with the jellybeans.

"Now… about the Jump," Death said, rubbing his hands together. "Don't think about anything else. Just focus on the destination. If your thoughts wonder off, even for a millisecond, you might find yourself hitch-hiking home from the dark ages. When you come out the other side, you are to go straight to the Headmaster's office. Banquo already knows where it's located. As you know, he was once a student there."

"What if they ask where I'm from?"

"Oh, I already thought of that," said Banquo, now opening an old brass pocket watch. "Hogwarts is about to receive a transfer from Prague's finest Academy of Witchcraft. The school closed down in early 1944 when . There shouldn't be too many questions. And if there is, I'll put them to rest." He glanced at the watch face. "Blazing pygmies, time is arriving in less than 12 seconds!"

Death quickly embraced her. "Remember that what lies behind us, and what lies before us," he whispered in her ear, "are tiny matters compared to what lies within us." At the time, Bella only understood the importance of his words. It would be much later, looking back on everything, that she would understand their meaning.

After saying goodbye to her father, Bella took a deep breath and hurried to the front door which Banquo was already opening. She half expected to see a flash or a rush of stars. The air should have spiralled and turned into speeding sparks such as happens in the common, everyday time portals. Or at least, that's what she'd seen in movies. But the space outside the front door was darkness. Mean, hateful darkness.

_Crap, I hate the dark._

Banquo steadied his feet on the edge, centimetres from the seemingly unending chasm of blackness. With a forceful hand he urged Bella to do the same. She did so begrudgingly. "On the count of three," he directed.

"One…"

_I hope I don't die._

"Two…"

_I really hope I don't die._

"Three!"

_Oh my god, I'm gonna die!!!_

They jumped. Instantly everything around Bella turned dark, like someone had switched off a light, and she felt herself falling.

down…

down…

down…

_OH, LORD! OH, MERLIN! OH, SHIT!_

Her eyes strained to see Banquo, but he was completely lost in the darkness. '_Okay, Bella, relax. Just breathe_,' she said to herself.'_That's it – in through the nose, out through the mouth… Now you have to concentrate. Keep focused._'

_Hogwarts. Hogwarts. Hogwarts. Hogwarts. Hogwarts. Hogwarts. Hogwarts. Hogwarts. Monkey. Cellophane. Bootstrap . Dammit. Hogwarts. Hogwarts. Hogwarts. Hogwarts. Hogwarts. Hogwarts. Hogwarts. Hogwarts. Hogwarts. Hogwarts._

She seemed to fall forever. After a while she became less aware she was falling. At one point she almost figured it to be pleasant. Almost.

Suddenly a light appeared beneath her. It reached up to her like an outstretched hand, pulling her down towards it. Like an angel it banished the darkness and Bella became completely enveloped in a white light. It was only when she felt her body hit the ground, and the light vanished, that the full realisation of it swept in. _It was finally over_. No, more than that, she had just travelled through time! She opened an eye warily. The room she was in was bare, save for a flickering lamp on the far wall. And the stone floor felt cold. The fall through time must have left her a little shaken, and she struggled to her feet.

"You alright there?" said a voice.

She turned around and breathed a sigh of relief. "Banquo, you scared the shit out of me," she said. "I couldn't see you at all during that. I thought it had swallowed you whole."

Banquo straightened his waistcoat, flashing a cheeky grin. "Well, we made it. That's the important thing." He strode over to a large wooden door on the wall beside her. "Can you believe we just Jumped through time?" It amazed her that he was so energetic after such a feat. But then again, Banquo was always full of surprises. She wiped her dusty hands on the underside of her sweater and followed him to the door.

He paused for a moment, perhaps more for dramatic emphasis than anything else.

"Bella Wilde," he said, placing a firm hand on the rusty door knob and turning it. "Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."


End file.
